The sliding door stands open. A thin layer of snow covers the dirt floor, having blown in. Shoving my sunglasses onto my crown, I step inside. I’m greeted by the smells of horses and hay and the earthy essences of a well-used barn. A dapple-gray draft horse stands cross-tied in the aisle to my left, looking at me. A second horse still wearing its quilted winter coat is tied outside its stall and whinnies. The stairs to the loft are on my right. A raised wood-plank floor is straight ahead, where a dozen or so bags of feed are stacked against the wall. Outside, the wind whips at a loose shingle, clanging it against the roof.
I go to the gelding, run my hand over his topline. “You must be Jimmy.”
The animal nuzzles me, not because he’s lovable, but because he’s likely looking for a carrot or apple.
“Hello?” I call out. “Adam?” I walk toward the raised floor at the rear of the barn, looking around as I go. “Gina?”
A quiver of worry goes through me when I don’t get a response. I’m ever aware of the events that have taken place in Columbus. I know better than to write off the possibility that someone might come looking for her. Cops are a resourceful bunch with an arsenal of people-finding tools at their fingertips, not to mention the experience to get it done. It wouldn’t take much for one of them to remember that Gina and I had once been friends.
Someone like Ken Mercer, a little voice whispers.
A sound to my left startles me. I spin, my hand hovering over the place where my .38 would have been had I thought to bring it. Surprise flits through me at the sight of Gina and Adam clattering down the steps. They’re laughing. I discern Gina’s raucous laugh, vivacious, a little too loud. Single file because the steps are narrow, Gina in the lead, Adam right on her heels. Hands joined between them.
At the base of the stairs, she stops and spins to him, raising her uninjured hand as if to fend him off. “I told you I’d beat you!”
“You cheated.”
He moves in close, eyes alight, his attention riveted to her. It’s a response that has nothing to do with Amish or English, but the age-old dynamics inherent between male and female.
It’s such an unexpected and improbable sight, it takes my brain a moment to process. I’ve interrupted a private moment. Decorum tells me to make a quick exit and forget it. But I know Gina. More importantly, I know Adam. I know what he’s been through, that he’s vulnerable in a way that won’t be taken into consideration by her, and I know nothing good can come from their getting too close.
“Looks like the snow has finally stopped,” I say.
She startles, her gaze flying to mine. Adam lurches away from her, his hand dropping away from hers. His smile evaporates. An emotion akin to guilt flashes in his eyes and is quickly followed by embarrassment.
The Amish can no more be lumped together than any other group of people, but certain norms prevail. Mature Amish men are generally well behaved. Married men are aware of appearances, especially with regard to how they will be seen by the Amish community. I’ve no doubt Adam embodies that inherent propriety and good manners. He’s a single father with young children to raise, a farm to manage, and a reputation to uphold. All of that said, he’s also a man who’s been alone for long time.
Gina, on the other hand, operates with a devil-may-care attitude. She’s a rule breaker and never hesitates to speak her mind, the louder, the better—even when she’s wrong. She’s engaging, fiercely loyal, and passionate about everything she does. When I discern the reckless half smile on her face, I know Adam doesn’t stand a chance.
“I hear you might be able to pull a couple of vehicles out of the snow,” I say.
Adam takes another step away from Gina. His eyes don’t quite meet mine as he moves past me and approaches the gelding in the aisle. For the first time I notice the leather pulling collar in his hand.
“We’ve got a small window of good weather,” he says. “I thought we might put it to use. Get the cars out while we can.”
“Can I help?” I ask. I’m aware of Gina holding her ground at the base of the stairs, watching us, but I don’t look at her. “It’s been a while, but I remember my way around a horse and harness.”
He slants a look at me, but his eyes don’t hold mine. “I’ve got it.”
I watch him unbuckle the gelding’s halter and then reposition it around the horse’s neck; then he slides the pulling collar over its head.
I approach Gina. “You must be feeling better.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” she mutters. “We were just goofing around. Blowing off steam after being cooped up.”
“I didn’t ask.” I try to gauge her sincerity, but I’m annoyed because she’s unaffected and unapologetic. In typical Gina fashion, she has no understanding of the repercussions of her actions.
“I’ll fill you in on a few things later,” I say quietly.
“I can’t wait.” She whispers the words beneath her breath, then turns away and walks to the door.
Adam goes to where the mare stands tied in the aisle. I watch as he unbuckles the belly strap of the winter blanket, pulls it over the animal’s head, and drapes it over the stall door. Untying the horse, he leads her to the open area where the gelding waits and ties the mare next to him.
I go to the mare and run my hand over her shoulder. She jigs left, tossing her head. “They’re restless.”
“They’ve been cooped up in their stalls too long,” Adam says. “Ready for some fresh air and heavy pulling, I think.”
He still won’t look at me or meet my gaze. “I haven’t used Jenny for heavy pulling in a while,” he says as he drapes the leather harness over the mare’s head and proceeds to buckle the straps.
“Think they can do it?” I ask, though I know from experience Percheron drafts are capable of pulling thousands of pounds. My datt owned a team of four when I was a kid, and I’ve seen them pull a plow through fields and wagons loaded ten feet high with hay.
“They’ve pulled heavier.” He loops the near leather line around the O ring of the bit, buckles it, and runs the line through the terret at the collar. “I checked both vehicles earlier,” he tells me. “Yours doesn’t look too bad. Hers might prove to be a little more difficult.” He doesn’t say Gina’s name. “But I think we can get them out.”
He runs his hand over the gelding’s rump. When his gaze finally meets mine, I see self-recrimination and shame in his eyes. I don’t know what to say to him or how to assuage his discomfort.
“Katie, about what you saw—”
I raise my hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
He tightens his mouth, looks away, then turns his gaze back to mine. “It was my doing. Not hers.”
Half a dozen responses dangle on my tongue. I want to caution him about Gina and her charms. Let him know that his attractive and fun-loving visitor has a talent for sucking the unsuspecting into her life. But Adam is a grown man. He knows his mind. And this is likely none of my business.
“You’re a gentleman, Adam.” I run my fingers through the horse’s mane. “Gina is … complicated.”
He nods, thoughtful. “In that case, I’ll just finish harnessing the horses and we’ll get those vehicles pulled from the snow.”